Surreal Bahrain

Surreal. That's really the only way to describe the week I have had in Bahrain. Here for a mid-year training for English Language Fellows in the region, I have found myself in a bizarre world of connections and intersections that seem, strangely, both millions of miles away from the world I left in Marrakech and, yet, oddly familiar.

I left the desert of Marrakech on Tuesday wearing a down jacket and a winter hat. It had rained hard on Monday, and the Atlas Mountains, covered in spectacular new snow under a bluebird sky, provided an amazing backdrop for the city as my plane took off. I touched down in Casablanca 30 minutes later, and the reunions began. I found Wendy, my fellow Morocco Fellow, in the airport there. One more plane and 8 hours later, we landed in Doha, Qatar, where we found a Fellow from Algeria. Another few hours of waiting and a quick 30 minute flight put us in Manama, Bahrain at 3:00 a.m. When we checked into our hotel at 4:30 a.m., there was another fellow just arriving from Algeria. The reunion had begun. People I had met at a whirlwind pre-departure orientation in Washington, D.C., last August were now reemerging on the other side of the world. All of us, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed back in the summer, were now at least five months into our Fellowships in various countries in North Africa and the Middle East. The uncertainty, excitement, and questions of the pre-departure orientation had been replaced with experience, more questions, and and endless supply of crazy stories.

I took one look at my posh hotel room, with its enormous bed and huge bathtub, and fell into a deep sleep. It took all of the energy I could muster to get out of bed in time for the buffet breakfast a few hours later just before it closed. An odd sun shimmering in a gray, hazy smog of skyscrapers and cranes greeted me through the window. The buildings were interspersed with acres of sand and gravel.  A fifteen story painting of the king shimmered across the street. This little Arab monarchy sitting in the Persian Gulf just oozes money. Fast and fancy cars speed down the city streets in Manama, which is connected to Saudi Arabia by a causeway across the gulf.

Once I made my way downstairs, I was astounded by the buffet breakfast which featured food from all over the world. I ate until I was ready to pop. Then I waddled into the mall attached to our hotel. Shimmering marble, sparkling chandeliers, designer shops, glinting gold jewelry, and restaurants I haven't seen since leaving the U.S. overloaded my senses. Elegant women's eyes peered out from beneath black abayas, hijabs, and niqabs. While women in Morocco tend to wear the hijab in multi-colored personal statements of style, it is rare to see women covered from head to toe in black. The men in their thawb (long white robes) and keffiyeh (red and white checkered head scarves) strolled nearby toting shopping bags of their own. I was astounded. Three floors with endless options for consumption beckoned. I marveled as everyone skillfully navigated the multiple escalators connecting the various floors of this shopping nirvana. In Marrakech, the escalator that descends to the lower level of the mini-mall to the grocery store works irregularly. When it is working, there is regularly an escalator virgin waiting nervously at the top - someone from outside the city who has never seen an escalator before. I smile as I watch adults working up the courage to step on to the strange moving stairs that will take them down to do their shopping. Bahrain is a world apart.

Like a kid in a candy store, I walked the mall and soaked up all of my options. I made a mental note of the grocery store treats that I would need to buy and all of the food I would need to eat. Back at the hotel, I found a gym and realized how much I have missed being able to exercise without worrying about how I dress or what people think. I changed into my sneakers and indulged in every piece of equipment, free bottle of water, and fluffy little sweat towel that they provided. When I had finally satiated my little first-world gym rat side, I settled into my gigantic bathtub with takeout Indian food and Krispy Kreme donuts for dinner with CNN on the TV. I felt momentarily guilty about leaving Andy, Brianna, and Nolan to fight over the limited lukewarm water in the shower back in Marrakech, and then I dropped into a blissful sleep and forgot.

Manama Street Art with Fellows

Bahraini Breakfast for Dinner

Post-workshop smiles

The next three days were a whirlwind of workshops - two days of training and sharing with Fellows and a day working with Bahraini teachers of English. Nights were free to connect, share stories, and indulge in all that Bahrain has to offer.  Three intense days together felt more like weeks, and saying good-bye to this group of 11 Fellows who bonded so quickly over shared challenges and successes felt like a wistful departure from an adult summer camp (without the mosquitoes, Koolaid, or sleeping bags).

Pita oven in the souq

Abaya shops everywhere

Oud Tunes

The bliss of hotel living had been so complete, and the appeal of the surrounding sand and haze so lacking, that I had neglected to get out and "see" Manama. We had been out to dinner twice, but it had happened in that weird way of being whisked from hotel to restaurant stuffed in the back of a taxi. I had emerged, eaten, and returned in that same bubble of safety. With an 11:00 p.m. flight ahead of me today, and good-byes and my last hotel breakfast behind me, I decided it was time to strike out into the sand and see a little bit of Bahrain. I covered up, put on my sun glasses, and headed out into the hot haze in the direction of the Arad Fort. I walked along the highway on a deserted sidewalk (walking in the desert is apparently not a favorite pastime of Bahrainis). I eventually found the 15th century fort, took a lap, and headed back toward my hotel. I didn't linger. There wasn't much to see. I felt satisfied to have soaked up some vitamin D and to have gotten some exercise before my flight home. On the walk back, I spotted another fancy mall. Never one to miss an opportunity to overindulge, I decided I should probably stop in and make sure I hadn't missed anything in Bahrain.

Bahrain color spotted at the Arad Fort

As I went through the doors into the mall, I was greeted by a security guard with a metal detector. A perfunctory security check is also pretty common in Morocco at swanky restaurants, hotels, and malls. As I opened my bag and the guard scanned my body with his metal detector, he smiled politely and, with all of the indifference of the bagger at the supermarket asking if I wanted "paper or plastic," he said, "Hi Ma'am. No bombs today?" I laughed uncomfortably and looked at him to see if he was joking. He just smiled - politely waiting. "Not today," I said and carried on into the mall. Bahrain. Surreal.

Surreal Sunset on Bahrain 

Grand Theft Auto: Marrakech

GTA and I go way back - in the way that arch enemies do. It was just four short years ago that I was banging heads with my high school freshman about his desire to purchase this video game. My general distaste for video games had turned to loathing in the face of GTA and its excessive violence and questionable moral compass. I fought the good fight and lost.  GTA joined air soft guns and soda in the teenage winner's circle. I moved on to other parenting battles and let that one go. I regrouped and tried to anticipate which firm line in my parenting sand would be next to disintegrate.

Foster, that stubborn high school freshman, is now a freshman in college. Somehow he came through the GTA phase unfazed. He has yet to commit any senseless acts of violence and seems to know the difference between right and wrong. While we are living out our Moroccan adventure, he's back in Vermont paving his own way. Yesterday, I heard Nolan laughing delightedly in his bedroom. When I went in to see what was going on, he gave me an ear-to-ear grin. "I'm playing GTA with Foster." 

I couldn't have been happier. I turned a blind-eye to the game's gratuitous violence and gave thanks for the sibling bond that it's helping to maintain. Oceans apart and separated by time zones, the geographical distance and age difference melted away as my boys teamed up to focus on their mission in the criminal underworld. Connections through virtual crime were never what I anticipated when I imagined the bonds that would hold our family together over the years. But, I have to admit, when I saw that sneaky smile on my boy's freckled face and heard him laughing out loud with his older brother who is so far away, my heart softened just a little bit toward GTA. If I can't have peace, love, and happiness all the time, I guess I'll take organized crime with a side of brotherly love.

This Week's Marrakech Moments

We've been getting down to business in Marrakech this week with lots of exams, writing, and school work happening on rue Zellaqa (don't you just love that street name?) with a couple of cultural excursions squeezed in between. I presently am staring at an enormous pile (400) of exams which need to be graded, and I have decided that blogging is the better option. Since the exam experience is fresh in my mind, however, that seems like a great spot to start.

After a seven week hiatus from our last class, it was time for my first-year students to take their final exam. I was slightly (okay, largely) stressed about how exactly that would unfold. Two classes of about 200 students each would take the exam at the same time on a Saturday afternoon. All I knew was that I had 400 exams (all stapled by Nolan for a small fee) and my job was to show up. Given the rare threat of rain on Saturday afternoon, I opted for a taxi instead of my bike, This turned out to be the best choice of the day. Normally, when I try to take a cab to the university, it takes me about 5 minutes to explain where I am trying to go - testing all of my French, my few phrases of Darija, and my poor knowledge of area landmarks. I eventually get there, but it's never easy. Saturday, however, was my lucky day. After the usual challenge of trying to explain where I was headed, the driver said, "You need to say 'quartier amasheesh," and I was like, "Well...thank you very much!" I felt like a new woman. Naturally, I had to write this down, given my ability to hear Arabic, repeat Arabic, and then totally forget Arabic in lass than two minutes. Now, however, I am set for all future cab rides to the university. With that nuisance resolved, I was able to sit back and contemplate how I was going to monitor an exam for 400 students.

As it turned out, the exam kind of just gave itself. I showed up. My students were spread out among six different classrooms in different parts of the campus. I ran around handing out piles of exams to graduate students who had been recruited as exam proctors. I stayed in the last classroom and watched things unfold. Two proctors handed out tests, rapped on desks when somebody talked, passed around an attendance sheet (the first one I have seen), transferred "white-out" from aisle to aisle for students who needed to make corrections, called out time warnings, and wrapped things up at the end. I don't know exactly how things transpired in the other five classes, but, at the end of two hours, I had my 400 exams back in my bag and a gargantuan correcting project ahead. With Lady Luck smiling down on me, I only walked about ten minutes before a taxi passed by and picked me up to take me home. Check the first Moroccan university exam off the list of experiences to be had.

In other day-to-day updates, Nolan continues to home school himself. The opening of a new juice bar near our apartment has made for a good morning excursion for reading and math time. Brianna's life is all Spanish all the time right now (given her habit of letting something build up  to crisis point and then cramming it all in at the last second). This week's goal is an entire semester of Spanish in eight days. She did take a break mid-week for a two day excursion out of Marrakech to visit the hometown of some friends she has made here. She returned with wonderful stories and tasty treats of fresh olive oil, olives, pickled vegetables, bread, and cake. We all benefited from her little adventure!  Andy, continues to plug along at learning English through the eyes of second language learners. He's taking a TEFL course to learn to be an English teacher and is busy discovering every day that English is not as easy as it looks.

On the fun front, we finally made it Badi Palace, a ruined sultan's palace from the late 1500's and one of Marrakech's must-do tourist attractions. A sunny day, extensive ruins and courtyards, and lots of Moroccan tile made for some fun parkour obstacles for Nolan. The palace also houses a 12th century minbar which once stood in Marrakech's largest mosque, Koutoubia Mosque. A minbar is a pulpit in a mosque where the imam stands to deliver sermons. Unfortunately, when we first read about the minbar at el Badi Palace, we understood there to be a famous "minibar" at the palace which used to be housed at Koutoubia. Naturally we spent our time looking for a tiny refrigerator and trying to imagine why there would be a minibar in a mosque. Sadly, there were no overpriced snacks to be found in the minbar. We left enlightened and thirsty.

Badi Palace Fun

Hello Sunshine, my old friend!

Today the sun rises on a new week in Morocco. The temperatures are starting to climb again. Yesterday we experienced our first sand squall as the weather tried to decide which season it was. Hot sun, heavy wind, sand, and, then, drenching rain all took turns throughout the day. The  rain and howling wind arrived as we headed out to find dinner. We made it about 200 yards and sprinted back to the apartment, soaking wet, with three broken umbrellas that had been ravaged by the wind. Fortunately Nolan's calamari craving was strong, and he and Brianna ventured out into the flood waters to get take out food for all of us and save the day. Ah...city living...calamari on every corner. Stay tuned.

A bike ride in the countryside to balance things out

My Head Spins This Week

It has been a mind boggling week. And I'm not talking about Morocco. I have watched with astonishment and a sense of helplessness as events have unfolded in the United States. I am torn between trying to keep up with the endless stream of news and the temptation to bury my head in the sand. Refugee education is near and dear to my heart. With each new development on the immigration and education fronts, I have cringed anew.  I have alternated between overdosing on news and ignoring my Facebook feed. I am grateful to be so far away and grieving that I am incapable of helping from afar. I am proud of every protester, park ranger, and passionate citizen speaking out on my behalf. Thank you.

Summit Street School connection! So grateful
to this woman for her professional mentorship
and support over the years. What a treat to
share the magic of Marrakech!

Day to day Marrakech has been comparatively drama-free and upbeat. We have managed to balance some fun and adventure with our daily school and work routines. We had a great mid-January treat with a visit from Vermont friends, which we followed up by channeling some Vermont skiing vibes later in the week with a trip back to the High Atlas to give Andy his chance at the high altitude Moroccan ski experience. This time we were treated to some recent snow and about 8 inches of powder. It was a workout that left me wondering how I could possibly be breathing so heavily and completely exhausted from pointing my skis downhill. Gravity did not seem to be doing its job. Overall, though, it was a successful day. We managed to rent helmets this time around, which made me feel slightly safer than the last time we tried this adventure. The sun shone brightly as we waited an hour for the ticket booth to open and the lift to start running. The un-groomed powder made for challenging skiing but also provided more padding and friction for our falls. The image of Brianna's never-ending slide down the steep trail still haunts me. After three hours of challenging skiing under a cloudless sky, we wound our way back to Marrakech unscathed.

The view at 10,700 feet

Who knew we would find snowmen in Morocco!

The weekend brought marathon madness to Marrakech. Actually, for an international Marathon of about 8000 runners, the hype was pretty limited. A "marathon village" popped up in the park near our apartment.  Andy and I had preregistered, so we walked over the day before the marathon, picked up our bibs, tried to determine where the race would actually start, and left with t-shirts that were designed for some oddly shaped people (in a country that encourages me to keep my skin covered, I find it slightly humorous that my official marathon t-shirt is more of a belly-baring crop top than anything close to modest running attire). The day before the marathon, Brianna and Nolan joined a group of girls from Project Soar to run the children's race through Marrakech. It was a 5K...no 3K...no 4K...ummm we have no idea how far it was, but it was a loop through part of the city with lots of local participants. Despite the running part (as Brianna would say), it was a good time, but the whining about sore muscles lasted for days.  Andy and I got our turn the following day.

Finished!

I, being somewhat sane and not overzealous about training, had signed up for the half marathon. Andy, being somewhat insane and also not overzealous about training, had signed up to run the whole thing. I was quite happy about my choice. You can check in with Andy to see how he feels about his. The day dawned sunny and cool, as Marrakech mornings do in January. We found our way to the starting area where there were four port-o-lets. Yes. Four. Three of them were marked, "men," and one said, "women." Three of them were overflowing and locked closed. There were 8000 runners. I was mildly concerned about what this might mean for race course resources.

Pre-race chilliness with my fans

It was about 45 degrees when we started running. Brianna and Nolan stood by taking care of the camera, clothes, and money bag so I could concentrate on not getting stampeded at the start. Once I made it across the starting line, it was smooth sailing. The course was pretty and flat. We ran through parts of Marrakech that I had not seen before. I didn't hear a single word of English. The sun shone. The road stayed flat. There were bottles of water and oranges picked straight from the trees (so if you were tired of running, you could distract yourself by trying to peel an orange while you ran). There were no mileage markers. I ran in a blissful state of unawareness. I had no idea how far I had run or how far I had to go. I had no idea what anyone around me was saying. I just looked at my watch and hoped that I had trained well enough to keep me going for a couple of hours. Cheerful children popped up at intervals along the course to slap my hand. The biggest crowds were the grumpy motorbike drivers who were stopped at the intersections just waiting for all of us to go by. It was not the Vermont City Marathon. But, it was flat. Have I mentioned that? When I finished, it was 70 degrees without a cloud in the sky. Brianna and Nolan had come back for the finish and had bargained for a liter of freshly squeezed orange juice.  I quickly decided that flat marathons in the sunshine are my thing.

Post-race smiles for all

The next day, Brianna, Nolan, and I boarded a bus to Agadir where I had a conference scheduled for the week. Brianna and Nolan enjoyed hotel living for a few days while I attended workshops and presentations.  It was a whirlwind week of new faces and lots of learning for me, and a sweet beach vacation week for the kids. Now, we are back in Marrakech ready to see what the next week will bring both here in Marrakech and in our world at home. Stay strong for us!

Beach walk in Agadir with ma girl

Recreating a scene from years ago (with a few more clothes)

Moroccan cultural night! Brianna shows off her mad dance skills!

Boardwalk exercise fun